


A Lesson in Humility

by Rainbow_Volcano



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Ballroom, Friendship, Gen, Hubert and Edelgard are peas in a pod, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Minor Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth, Pining, Post-Time Skip, Snow, So I heard y'all like soft, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27364261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainbow_Volcano/pseuds/Rainbow_Volcano
Summary: Hubert, ever the vigilant rationalist, never expected to find himself falling in love. He struggles to come to terms with his own emotions, unable to settle on disgust or indulgence. One evening at a ball, he watches Ferdinand dancing with someone else. He tries to clear his head.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg & Hubert von Vestra, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 8
Kudos: 134





	A Lesson in Humility

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Lesson in Humility](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/709021) by Cloverdraws. 



> Inspired by the incredible comic "A Lesson in Humility", drawn by the phenomenally skilled and incredible Cloverdraws on Tumblr (https://cloverdraws.tumblr.com). The story is flawlessly told with almost no words, so I wondered how I could tell it with words and evoke the same emotions. It's not the most faithful adaptation, but I hope I captured the spirit of the piece nonetheless. My story also continues past the comic, as I wanted Hubert to be forced to confront his feelings a little bit, but not enough to change the somber tone. I hope you enjoy!

Hubert lurked in the corner of the ballroom, arms crossed with a glass of wine perched in his hand. Around him, nobles of every caliber flittered and flocked, paying no heed of the shadow at the edges. Hubert was tired; a fortnight without sleep was catching up to him suddenly. He had gone longer without rest before, but balls were very skilled at syphoning energy from him.

Not Ferdinand von Aegir, however. From his corner of the room, Hubert watched him. He convinced himself it was for the sake of Lady Edelgard, but if he were truly doing spy work, he would have needed to be four times closer. He studied Ferdinand, the way he smiled as if it was actually easy, the way he carefully allocated his attention from noble to noble, the way he fit in as if he was born to be there.

Hubert watched as a young woman approached Ferdinand, blushing from ear to ear and down to her cleavage. She seemed inconsequential, dull-witted. And like she was born to be there, too. 

Suddenly there was Ferdinand, dancing in the arms of a charming noblewoman. Ferdinand, laughing, with his head rolled back and bright hair cascading down his back. Ferdinand, touching her torso the way he always touched Hubert. As if it wasn’t special nor intimate, and just a boring place to put a hand.

Hubert grit his teeth, clenching his fist into his half-empty wine glass. Around him, the roar of the ball blurred into white noise.

He turned on his heel and left.

As he stalked through the halls, he wondered what he thought was going to happen. Ferdinand had glanced at him all of once through the evening, and a mere one instance was trivial. And even if he hadn’t, it wasn’t as though they would have danced together. As much as Ferdinand belonged in the spotlight, Hubert belonged in the shadows. It was practical. It was how he’d always meant it to be.

And he’d left in a rush because he’d never enjoyed balls, that was all. And because the irritation from lack of sleep was catching up to him. And Ferdinand’s hair catching in the candlelight as he caressed someone else was inconsequential.

The gala was Professor Byleth’s idea, and because Edelgard would jump off a cliff for her, the party was held. It was nothing more than a war meeting where all the attendees were dressed finely, held to rally support and gain extra troops and supplies for the war. But after the wine had been brought out, an hour later, it turned into a full-on ball.

The affair was ridiculous, self-indulgent pomp. It was nothing more than a grandiose battle of egos and semantics. And Ferdinand was not able to escape the ball’s spotlight. Perhaps, Hubert mused, he was born to shine under it. He was amiable and pleasant and effortlessly charming. The older men laughed at his quips, the eligible ladies fawned over him.

Hubert had told himself this was fine. That it was good, in fact. Ferdinand’s skills would put them closer to their goals. It would help the war effort, minimize bloodshed.

But when Ferdinand placed his hand on her waist, gingerly, tenderly, the same way he always laid his hand on Hubert?

He needed some air.

Hubert rushed out into the snow. There was only about an inch, but it spread across the ground, clinging to the fragile grass blades. The cold air stung his face, cooling him, and as he exhaled his fury, it puffed into a cloud before dissipating into the night.

Hubert began walking, feeling the crunch of the snow underneath his boots. He still held the wine glass, he realized, and tried somewhat to keep it from sloshing as he walked.

“Can you taste it?” Ferdinand had asked. “The flavors dancing on your tongue? Fruity, floral.” Ferdinand marveled at the wine. He had been placed in charge of choosing a proper one for the ball. While he wasn’t wrong, Ferdinand had said the exact same thing about Southern Fruit Blend tea. Hubert had wondered if he knew any other ways to describe drinks. “The flavor leaves a nice tang on your tongue. I know you prefer bitter flavors, but I think you might like this one.”

“Your passion for fruit is borderline obsessive,” Hubert had retorted, dismissively. Ferdinand had laughed.

“Perhaps. But you will try it, will you not? I think you will find it suited to your tastes.” Ferdinand had winked, and with that wink forced Hubert to take a sip.

Hubert wasn’t sure what his expression had looked like upon tasting the drink, but whatever it was, Ferdinand had smiled in triumph. “You like it, don’t you.”

Hubert sighed at the memory. Still walking, he swirled a bit of the wine around before taking another sip. It was fruity, but also robust. Ferdinand was right, it did leave a bit of a tang on his tongue. Despite the cold air, it made him feel warm. Much like Ferdinand tended to do.

At the thought, Hubert stopped dead in his tracks. The night air was stiff around him, lit faintly by the half-moon, and suffocating. Or perhaps that was the memory of Ferdinand smiling with a woman draped over his arms.

Hubert sighed. He had no right to Ferdinand. They were quickly becoming masters of furtive glances and lingering touches, brushed fingers and well-timed, secret smiles. Their banter that had, years ago, been scathing and sharp, had transformed into gentle jabs and light quips. Much of their free afternoons were devoted to tea and coffee with each other. But what did any of that mean in the grand scheme of a bloody war?

 _What did I expect?_ he thought. _Ferdinand? And me? A childish, idiotic thought._

He poured the wine out into the snow.

Hubert stood there a while, staring at the bloody stain the wine left in the cold, pristine snow-carpet. If he strained his ear, he could catch glimpses of the music from the ball. Glimpses of hope, taunting him, laughing at his hubris. Inside the great hall, where Ferdinand was, it was full of light and mirth and all the things that would never belong to Hubert. He was foolish, stealing a wine glass, pretending he could keep it.

His own thoughts sickened him. How much longer would he entertain such nonsense? It had always meant nothing. He had never felt softness nor fondness, or Goddess forbid, _affection._ Even if Ferdinand hadn’t proved tonight that their fraternizing meant nothing, Hubert had known that all along. They needed Ferdinand because they needed allies, and foppish and arrogant as he was, Ferdinand was a damned good one. That was all.

Despite being a flawless liar, Hubert wasn’t sure how much longer he could lie to himself.

He released a shuddering breath, chest shaking with the effort, as he looked up towards the sky. The moon was half-empty, fading with each passing night. Soon there would be an empty spot in the sky where the moon should have been, a dark hole among a sea of stars. It was oddly comforting. Familiar. The stars might miss the moon, but the sun never would. This was where Hubert belonged.

* * *

As he stood there, staring at the half-dead moon, the night air was cut by a sob. He looked up, craning his ear. He caught errant sniffles and followed their direction, unnerved by the familiarity.

He rounded a corner and found a woman, face in her palms, hunched over a bench.

Edelgard.

Hubert sucked in a breath, blood renewed by a different anger boiling in it. “Lady Edelgard?” he asked.

She looked up sharply. “Hubert!” She wiped her tears with the back of her wrist.

He rushed to her side. “You’re crying.” He reached into his breast pocket and handed her his handkerchief.

“No, it’s nothing,” she insisted, shaking her head. Though she still took the handkerchief. 

“Who did this to you,” Hubert hissed, all but demanding.

She sighed. “Hubert—”

“Tell me. I’ll separate their head from their shoulders.” It was a good excuse, a beheading. A good way to get out frustrations and frivolous emotions. Perhaps it would get him over Ferdinand, and it would most definitely solve Edelgard’s problem.

“Enough!” she barked. She sighed, and lowered her gaze. “Please.”

Hubert’s eyes widened. He huffed, frustrated at himself for pushing her. “Forgive me. I am…uncharacteristically irritated at the moment.”

She looked up, and caught his eyes. The gray in them reflected the moonlight. She gave a bit of a half-hearted smirk. “You too?”

Hubert sat down next to her, feeling the bite from the metal bench but not caring. Edelgard had found a quiet spot near a courtyard, surrounded by the bare branches of hedges. They were laden with snow, smothered by it, and had been long dead. The moon, ever present, glistened off of the remains of Edelgard’s tears clinging to her cheeks.

“If you will not allow me to behead them, perhaps I could instead hear what has you so troubled?” Hubert asked. A part of him felt the urge to stuff her head into his chest and wrap his arms around her, to keep her safe.

Edelgard sighed. She leaned back in the bench, eyes towards the moon. “I always knew my life had little place for romance in it. I had always intended to marry politically. And yet, I foolishly thought…I let myself believe…it matters not, now. It is utterly hopeless.”

“Amazingly, Lady Edelgard, you have voiced my exact sentiments.”

Edelgard whipped to him. “You?” Her eyes were wide, shocked. “Hubert, I had no idea.”

She was a bit angry at him, he knew. For keeping secrets from her. “It is…not something I’m proud of.” He hoped the truth of his statement would quell her irritation. She liked knowing things, full stop, but she also liked knowing things about Hubert. “It holds a palpable effect over me nonetheless. Denying it thus far has brought me nowhere. Perhaps accepting it will allow me to move on.”

She looked back towards the moon. “Accepting it…If only it were so easy. I’ve thought many occasions of abandoning my frivolities, yet that smile, every time, without fail…” she trailed off, imagining a certain small and rare smile. Hubert could imagine Ferdinand’s, brighter than a chandelier. “Hope is an addicting drug, is it not?”

Hubert stared down to his feet, to the snow crushed beneath them. “Quite so, my lady. Quite so.”

An errant gust of wind skittered past them, disturbing the air. Hubert wondered how long Edelgard had been sitting alone in the cold, convinced she deserved to be that way. He wondered how long he would have done the same, had he not heard her cries.

Edelgard turned to him. “May I ask, who—”

“I would sooner take the answer to that question to my grave.” He glared, not at her exactly, but at the idea of being vulnerable. The spilled wine in the snow. 

She sighed. “I see. You must be curious who I…well, you know…” she trailed off, heat rising to her cheeks. It was so rare to see Edelgard excited, flustered. He didn’t need to guess who had brought out this side of her.

“The professor,” Hubert finished. 

Her eyes widened. “How could you…?”

He smirked. “That’s easy. The way you look at her. You’re lighter, your smile comes more easily. At first, it was one of the professor’s most irritating qualities, the ability to make you smile. Now, it is a treasure.”

It was true, no one made Edelgard happier than Byleth. The slightest of details with the professor, a glance, a chuckle, a nod, Edelgard lapped them up like a thirsty kitten. Hubert wondered if that was the love the poets all spoke of: a force that makes weight seem lighter. A feeling that transforms loneliness into contentment. Or if it merely painted over the loneliness, like a haphazard bandage across a gaping wound. Like snow smothering barren branches. 

“She is not making me smile tonight,“ Edelgard murmured.

Hubert was never one for large social gatherings, finding himself either stalking Edelgard or stuck to the outer walls. He’d thought the professor was a kindred soul in that regard. He’d thought the professor understood how trivial and trifling they were, how the spotlight felt more like a searchlight. Yet if Edelgard was out here, the professor must have still been inside the hall, glittering in the glow of the nobles. 

“Indeed,” Hubert conceded. “My offer to behead her still stands.”

It brought the ghost of a smile to Edelgard’s face. “No, that would merely serve to hinder us. The professor is a valuable ally and tactical genius, regardless of how she feels for me. Perhaps I could behead the object of your affections?”

The idea of Ferdinand’s blood spilling into the snow, wine-red and staining the ground, was almost a comfort. “A part of me wishes that would solve anything. I might have wished for that very outcome long ago.” The memory of their bickering and their rivalry from five years ago surfaced; his turn to feel the ghost of a smile on his face. “But…if he is to die, I should like it to be by my own hand.”

Hubert, for a harrowing moment, felt it: Ferdinand, gasping in his arms on a battlefield. His bright hair drenched in blood, his chest convulsing, their hearts beating in sync. A weak smile, a hand brushing Hubert’s cheek, streaking it with wine-red blood, before going limp. A future that could have been. He shuddered and anchored himself to the half-moon above.

Edelgard was quiet for a moment. Then, “He?”

Hubert’s heart stuttered and dropped to his stomach. “I have said too much.”

Edelgard tilted her head, trying to look past the obsidian hair obscuring Hubert’s face. It might have been from the cold, but she saw the edges of Hubert’s cheeks dusted with pink. “Goodness, it’s someone I know _well_ , isn’t it?”

Hubert blanched. “I ask you to eliminate that line of thinking,” he insisted. 

For the first time, Edelgard smiled. It reminded him of a little girl with light brown pigtails and a still-soft heart. “Come now, Hubert, perhaps I could help you.”

He shook his head. “There would be no point. It is, as you put it earlier, utterly hopeless.”

Edelgard wanted to protest that, Hubert could feel it. She wanted to push against him, to insist that it wasn’t, to re-write the narrative. But he had already poured the wine into the snow. No matter how great her ambition, or her love, it could never return to the cup. And besides, the narrative was already better than it should have been. They had the professor; Byleth had chosen to stay with them. That was more than either of them should have dared hope for.

Edelgard must have realized this, because she said nothing. But she stared at him with violet eyes, eyes like a summer thunderstorm. She wanted it furiously, he realized with a start, Hubert being happy. She wanted it as much as she wanted her siblings back.

Her desperation made him wonder, if only for her sake, if the situation was entirely so helpless. But the memory of Ferdinand’s laughter, head tilted back and eyes gleaming in the light of the chandelier, beautiful, seized hold of his heart violently.

He clenched his fists. He couldn’t make the situation less hopeless any more than he could bring back her family. Nor any more than he could pour that wine back into his cup.

Edelgard leaned back against the bench, pressing her back into it, and exhaled slowly, letting her breath trickle out into the air. “It’s cold tonight, isn’t it? Everything is dusted with snow, shining in the moonlight.”

Hubert nodded. “Yes. But it doesn’t feel so terrible. I never knew sharing grievances with others made them feel less horrid.”

“You can tell me anything, you know. I rely on you for everything. Surely you can rely on me every once in a while.”

“Is this a plot to learn the identity of the man you wish to behead?” Hubert asked, mischief glinting in his eyes. 

“A little, yes. But more than that, you’re family to me. Is it truly so awful to trust family? To trust me?”

He shook his head. “I do trust you, Edelgard. Unflinchingly.” She held her breath. He never dropped the honorific from her name. “But this…this is something I’m not certain I trust myself on. I am in thick fog, and have no idea which enemies lurk where.”

“It is ill-advised to be alone in thick fog. It is a sure way to get ambushed,” she retorted gently, playing along with his metaphor.

Hubert sighed. “Since you are so adamant, I’ll relent. If you can guess who it is, I will not lie to you.”

Delight passed into Edelgard’s eyes. It was relieving. That wine would never return to the cup, but he was glad happiness could still return to Edelgard. “Hmm, it wasn’t that merchant from the South, was it?”

Hubert scoffed. “Perish the thought.”

“Indeed, it’s someone I know…It can’t be, Professor Hanneman?” Hubert choked. “Hubert, he’s four times your age!” Edelgard cried, light in her voice.

“That isn’t remotely amusing.”

“You’re smiling,” she countered.

Hubert rolled his eyes. “So are you.”

He saw the young girl once again in her smile, the girl he grew to know as his sister. She was the Emperor, she was a trauma survivor, she was a broken-hearted woman. But before all of that, closest to Hubert’s heart, she was the little girl he was born to protect.

“In any case,” Edelgard continued, “speculation won’t find me the truth. I will have to discover it through observation.”

“Observation?”

“The same way you deduced my feelings for the professor. What was it you said? That I was lighter, that my smile came more easily? I must find who does that to you.”

Hubert laughed joylessly. He wondered, did Ferdinand truly make him seem lighter? Did he smile more around him, at the thought of him? How much power did Ferdinand hold over him? Was it enough that Edelgard would be able to see it, as obviously as he saw her fawning over Byleth?

“It’s unnerving, isn’t it? Me, smiling softly? A sickening thought. I should much rather smile sinisterly.”

Edelgard leaned her head on Hubert’s shoulder. She was warm, so much warmer than the air around him. And she was familiar—he knew the feel of her hair and the shape of her cheek. “I don’t think it’s unnerving at all. I’d like to see you smile softly more often.”

Hubert rested his head on hers. “Truth be told? As would I.”

Edelgard huffed a voiceless laugh. “You would rather _I_ smile more, or you would rather I catch _you_ smiling more?”

Hubert looked up to the half-moon. “Yes.”

The music from the hall swelled for a moment, before dying again. The air around them was crisp and settled, like a blanket smothering them. Like snow on bare branches.

Even if Edelgard didn’t have Byleth the way she wanted, even if Hubert would never have Ferdinand, they had a chance at a future. Even if neither Hubert nor Edelgard would ever have their heart’s desires, they would still have each other.

Hubert thought once more of the wine, of the tang still teasing his tongue, of Ferdinand’s coy and playful wink. Then he exhaled, like wine spilling from his chest, staining the night air.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes creativity chokes your neck and refuses to let you breathe until you've made art, and that is exactly what happened here. I've always thought there's something magical about art inspiring art, and I'm eternally grateful for Clover for allowing me to do this. I hope it didn't disappoint! Remember to check out the original comic and Clover's other work, it's all fantastic.


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